


pitching myself for leads in other people's dreams

by vulcanistics



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bullying, Character Death In Dream, Dreaming, Dreamsharing, Dying In Dreams, High School, M/M, Magic, Magical Realism, Mental Health Issues, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Underage Substance Use, begins on the day Connor takes Evan's letter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-01 04:42:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14512791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vulcanistics/pseuds/vulcanistics
Summary: "You don't know anything about dream magic, do you?"Connor Murphy has been dreaming since he was thirteen but he didn't think there was anythingthatunusual it, and then, he finds himself in another person's dream.





	1. fell out of bed

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this idea for such a long time and I'm actually the worst person with WIPs because I start too many, so I'm going to start by saying that I'm not very regular with updates. But anyway, this is something I've thought about a lot and I think there are a couple of YA books that might have this premise and I discovered them while skimming through Goodreads, and basically, this fic is about dreams and boys and trying to understand each other. It's not inception but there's magic dreaming at work. I'm not sure where this is going but I hope someone likes it, or is at least, interested. 
> 
> The fic draws from prompts that can be found [here.](http://nosebleedcluboriginal.tumblr.com/post/161710802852/reign-of-the-dark-suburb)

 

Connor opens his eyes and finds himself standing in a dark forest. He's never dreamt about a forest like this one before. The first thing he notices is the distorted and contorted trees. The trees are twisted in and around each other, intertwining to form braided trunks and mismatched branches. Connor reaches out to touch a tree and the trunk is solid underneath his palms. There is a canopy of leaves above him and when Connor looks up, he can see traces of moonlight darting through the gaps. The trees are shaking and Connor watches as leaves drift down towards him, disintegrating into nothingness before his eyes. The ground is covered with weeds, broken twigs and grass. There are patches of daisies growing from the inky nothingness. The forest is caught between the stage of rotting and recovering, between dying and living. An owl hoots in the distance and Connor jerks away from the tree at the disturbance. Connor’s heart clatters against his rib cage, and the sound is thunderous in the eerily silent forest.

“Who is there?” Someone asks, hesitant and wary. The voice echoes in the forest and suddenly, Connor realises that this is not his dreamscape. This is not his dream. Connor knows that he’s trespassing, knows that he’s not wanted here. He’s an intruder, an anomaly, a glitch; and so, he runs towards the blurred edges of darkness and jumps.

Connor wakes up gasping for air, fingers curling into his sheets. What the fuck. He knows, with every fibre of his being, that he was in another person’s dream. He takes in a deep breath and is flooded with memories of the forest. He can still smell the decaying wood. Evan Hansen’s letter stares at him from his bedroom floor and Connor leans over to read it for the tenth time. He needs to forget the eerie forest. His eyes linger on the last line of the letter and he thinks about Evan Hansen sitting in the computer lab and typing it out. _I mean face it, would anyone notice if I just disappeared tomorrow?_ A thread of discomfort unfurls in his stomach and Connor blinks back the sudden onslaught of tears. It's the second day of school. It's too early in the morning and he's exhausted.

He stays in bed and stares at his ceiling.

He listens to the sounds of the house waking up — water running in the distance, the click of a bathroom door, a chair being dragged, cupboards being thrown open, Zoe playing The Beatles in the bathroom, his mom peeking into the room to let him know that breakfast is ready, Zoe screaming for him to wake the fuck up.

Connor frowns at his reflection in the mirror and idly drags a comb through his hair. He thinks about his dream as he brushes his teeth and changes his clothes. Maybe the weed from last night had affected his dream? Maybe his mind had decided to gift him fucking hallucinations on top of everything else? Connor growls to himself and grips the edge of the washbasin, it was a dream and there was no reason to get worked up about it, even if it hadn't felt like his own dream. Maybe he was just imagining things. He was imagining things. It was his dream, it was his dream, it was his dream, Connor chants under his breath and clenches and unclenches his fists. If he repeats it enough, it will become the truth. 

His dad and sister yell for him and Connor twists the strap of his messenger bag. He grabs Evan’s letter from the floor and stuffs it into the pocket of his jacket. Maybe he’ll shove it into Evan’s locker during lunch break.

 

***

 

Connor frowns when he enters the class for AP Environmental Studies, there’s only one seat left and it’s right next to Evan Hansen. Connor stands in the doorway and wonders if he could get away with skipping the class. Someone coughs behind him and Connor turns around to face Ms. Dasgupta.

Ms. Dasgupta smiles at him, “Are you planning on skipping my class, Connor?”

Connor offers Ms. Dasgupta a small smile. He doesn’t particularly love Environmental Studies, but he does like Ms. Dasgupta. She was nice and she never treated him like a problem child—lazy, uninterested, disruption, a menace, distracted, a waste of space, a walking disaster—she didn’t care about those things. She was nice and she treated him like he was a student she was happy to teach.

“No, I was trying to figure out where to sit,” Connor says with a shrug. Ms. Dasgupta nods and looks past Connor, surveying the classroom, “There’s a spot near Evan, come on.”

Connor nods but doesn’t say anything. He makes sure to drag his feet as he walks towards Evan Hansen. His classmates don’t look at him, and he’s almost thankful. They’re used to Connor fucking Murphy the resident basket case, he thinks bitterly. The chair makes a grating sound against the floor as Connor pulls his chair out and Connor looks up to meet Evan Hansen’s gaze. Evan startles and averts his eyes towards the open textbook on his desk. Connor sighs as he sits down, he knows that he’s probably forgotten his own textbook at home which isn’t ideal but he can probably get away with it. Evan Hansen is watching him from the corner of his eye and Connor feels vaguely unsettled. He doesn’t want to say anything. He wants to keep his head down and get through class and go home but Evan keeps casting him small glances and Connor has to stop himself from snarling at Evan. It’s the second day of school, he can’t afford to make a scene in the middle of class, in the middle of his favourite teacher’s class.

Connor pulls out Evan’s letter from his pocket and places it on his desk. Evan freezes next to him and Connor feels triumphant. Connor draws a line across the letter and writes a note at the bottom— _Zoe would never go out with you_. He carefully folds the letter into a paper aeroplane and tosses it on to Evan’s lap with a sneer. Connor watches as Evan looks up to see if Ms. Dasgupta is paying attention to them before unfolding the paper. Evan traces Connor’s writing with his fingers and his face twists into a bitter smile. I’m an asshole, Connor thinks as he scowls at his own name on Evan’s cast.

Someone—Evan Hansen—slides a note to him and Connor blinks at it in surprise and glances at Evan who refuses to meet his eye. Connor flips the note over and reads the two words Evan has written — _I know_. Connor crumples the note in his hand and drops it to the ground. Fuck Evan Hansen and his miserable existence.

Connor watches the clock, counting down the minutes to the end of class. Five minutes before the bell, Connor feels the urge to turn and ask Evan Hansen if he’s alright, but really, Connor has no right to do that. He needs to get out of class. He needs to smoke a joint.

When the bell rings, Connor is the first to shoot out of his seat. Evan Hansen’s gaze follows him out of the door.  

 

***

 

Connor takes a drag of his joint and leans against the wall. He sits cross-legged at the bottom of the stairwell and drums his fingers on the ground. He thinks of how he found the abandoned stairwell at the back of the school when he was in ninth grade. Mark Harris had been purposely getting on his nerves the whole day–kicking the back of Connor’s chair, whispering insults under his breath, shoving him in the hallway. Connor had tolerated it as much as he could because he was already in trouble with his parents and if he got into a fight, it would be his fault. But, the anger in his stomach had flared out and Connor had thrown a punch at Mark Harris. He’d promptly spun around and run away as fast as possible. He wasn’t looking for a fight. He had run and thrown open random doors and dashed down stairs and tried to put as much distance between him and Harris and his best friend Nathaniel Wu. The two years of track that he had under his belt helped immensely. He had stumbled upon the abandoned stairwell by chance and curled himself into the space under the stairwell. He waited and waited for Harris and Wu to find him and beat him up, but they never came. Connor waited for an hour before allowing himself to relax and look around the stairwell. The place was overgrown with vines and placed his hand on the leaves and breathed in. The place appeared to be free from any human presence. He was in ninth grade when he discovered the place that would become his escape for the rest of high school.

Nobody ever came to the abandoned stairwell, which is why Connor almost yelps when he opens his eyes to see Evan Hansen staring at him.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Hansen?” Connor glares at Evan who flinches and draws his arms closer to himself. He can tell that he’s being too loud, too aggressive, too scary, but Connor is furious. He wants to scream because Evan was an intruder and the security that the stairwell had always provided him had crumbled in front of him.

“I came,” Evan pauses and nervously bites his lip, “I came to eat lunch. I eat here sometimes.”

Connor’s face must darken because Evan begins to shake his head and takes a step back. Connor wonders if he shoved Evan would he fall as easily as he did the previous day. Except, he doesn’t really want to hurt Evan. Connor raises the joint to his mouth and watches as Evan's eyes follow it.

“You’re not supposed to smoke on school grounds,” Evan blurts out.

Connor exhales the smoke and smirks, “You’re going to tell on me?”

“No, no, but it's not good for your health”

Connor almost laughs at how eager and naïve Evan sounds. The weed helps him calm down and eases out the tightness in his chest and helps his mind forget the world around him, but Evan Hansen doesn't need to know that. He shrugs, “Whatever. Get lost, Hansen.”

Evan frowns slightly and shuffles his feet, “I eat lunch here sometimes.”

Connor scoffs, this is probably the first time Evan and he have the same lunch periods which would explain why they never saw each other before. He really doesn't want to spend lunch period getting high with Evan Hansen sitting metres away from him. Evan looks at him with pleading eyes and Connor is tired.

“Fine, but only because you’re as pathetic as me.”

Evan laughs nervously and reaches out to pull a sandwich from his bag.

He holds it up to Connor, “Do you want some?”

Connor groans, “I don’t want to talk to you.”

Evan opens his mouth and Connor braces himself for a cutting remark, for retaliation, for a retort but none come. He should have expected that. He’d seen Evan Hansen swallow down his comments through all their classes together. Connor doesn’t know why he thought Evan would have something cruel to say to him. Evan was scared of him. Evan was quiet.

Connor closes his eyes and counts down the minutes to the bell.

 

***

 

Connor falls asleep at 2:25 a.m. and finds himself in Dublin. Connor spins around and stares at the castle in front of him–Drimnagh Castle. He remembers the castle from when it was the venue for his aunt’s wedding seven years ago. The grounds of the castle are empty and Connor runs his hands over the shrubbery as he walks around aimlessly. There are clouds rolling towards the distance and Connor makes his way towards the castle, he doesn’t want to get caught in a storm. He hears laughter in the distance and it carries over to him and Connor freezes. _Zoe_ , the laughter sounds like Zoe when she was younger, before Connor ruined her before she shut herself, and then there is silence. Connor can only hear the sound of the wind. He wonders if he’ll see a younger version of Zoe and him running through the grounds of the castle. Connor swallows thickly and shoves his hands into his pocket. He’s alright. He’s in a dream.

Connor counts his steps as he walks towards the entrance to the castle. One. Two. Three. Ten. Twelve. Fifteen. Twenty. Twenty-Seven. Someone slams into his side and throws him off-balance but the person reaches out and grabs his arm to steady him. Connor is almost expecting it to be Zoe but instead, he finds himself staring at Evan Hansen. Connor pulls himself out of Evan’s hands and glares at him.

“Okay, but why the fuck are you showing up in my dreams? I don’t even know you. I don’t care about you. Why am I dreaming about you of all people?”

Evan’s eyes flash with hurt and he draws his hands away from Connor, “Where are we?”

“Dublin.”

Connor frowns at Evan—Dream Evan—there’s something off about his entire appearance. He doesn’t look like the boy Connor has grown accustomed to seeing in class. He still looks anxious but there’s a sense of ease that’s rolling off him. He doesn't have his cast on. He’s wearing a faded World Wide Fund t-shirt with loose purple pyjamas and Connor really doesn’t understand why his brain would conjure up this particular image of Evan. Connor’s gaze flicks to Evan’s face and he frowns. Every time he’s dreamt about people, their faces had faded in and out of existence, there were glitches in their appearance. Dream Evan looks solid and real.

Connor thinks about his dream of the forest and his eyes widen. He had been in someone else’s dream. What if this wasn’t Dream Evan? Connor feels the panic bubble in his stomach and he needs to wake up right now. Having a panic attack in his dreamscape is never fun and Connor doesn’t want to go through that.

He shoves Evan away from him, “How the fuck did you get into my dream.”

It’s not a question. He doesn’t have time for questions. He knows he's right. Evan doesn’t answer him immediately. Connor feels Evan Hansen assess him and Connor’s fingers tremble with the urge to break something, anything, everything. He could destroy fucking Ireland.

When Evan speaks, he’s quiet, “You were in my dream yesterday.”

Connor grits his teeth, “I don’t know how that happened.”

“You don’t?” Evan cocks his head to the side and frowns before continuing, “You don’t know anything about magic dreaming, do you?”

Connor feels his heart skip a beat and suddenly he doesn’t want to hear anything more from Evan. He cannot do this right now.

“Get out of my dream, get the fuck out, you’re not wanted here.” He’s screaming. Dublin trembles and dissolves around him and then they’re standing in nothing. Connor feels empty and drained.

Evan nods and disappears without another word.

Connor wakes up with tears running down his face. He screams and screams and screams into his pillow. Evan Hansen has some explaining to do.

 

***

 

 


	2. just a killer dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor confronts Cynthia and Evan doesn't show up for school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow this is rushed and kinda bad, i'm sorry?

The door of his parents’ bedroom opens and Connor listens to the sound of footsteps padding towards his room. He strains his ears to hear the startled cry from upstairs and he takes a sip from the glass of warm milk in his hand. His mother runs down the steps, the kitchen lights flicker on and Connor looks up to gaze at his mother. Cynthia breathes out at the sight of him sitting at the dinner table, her relief is so obvious and Connor feels as though someone stuck a knife into his gut.  He knows that she ran down the stairs because she’d looked into his room as soon as she woke up and had panicked at the sight of her son’s empty bed.  She’s in her night clothes and her hair is messily pulled up into a bun. They watch each other in silence. Connor reminds himself not to fidget as his mother’s gaze sweeps over him, flicking to his arms and back to his face. She nervously smiles at him as she struggles to ease out her breathing.

“Hi honey, you’re up early. Couldn’t sleep?” Cynthia asks as she moves towards the refrigerator.  The fridge lights up her face and Connor’s studies the shadows on her face. He shrugs and shakes his head, he knows she’s watching her from the corner of his eyes , like she’s afraid he might bolt away from her. Connor thinks about the warmth of the glass creeping up his hands. 

“Something like that.”

Cynthia huffs a small laugh and sits down on the chair next to him. She cautiously asks, “Why are you already dressed for school?”

Connor tries to remember the last time his mother and he had a civil conversation, but his brain refuses to cooperate. He fixes her with a cold stare and watches with satisfaction as the tentative ghost of a smile falls from his mother’s face. He doesn’t have the time for civility and tact. He needs explanations and he’d rather not wait till his confrontation of Evan Hansen.

“Mom, what is dream magic?” Connor asks, lacing his words with fake casualness. Cynthia reacts exactly the way Connor expects her to—she steadies her blinking, she tilts her head to the side, her shoulders relax and she rests her chin on her hand—Connor’s seen her react like this a million times, and he knows that whatever comes out of her mouth next would be lies. He’s almost used to it, it doesn’t hurt him anymore. The look on her face reminds Connor of someone talking to a petrified animal, he’s tired of seeing that gaze directed towards him. 

Cynthia smiles gently, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Connor scoffs and shakes his head, “Don’t fucking lie to me.” He wants to reach out and wrap his fingers around his mother’s wrist, tightly. 

“Connor, I don’t—”

“Someone from school was in my dreams tonight and he didn’t belong there. I didn’t fucking dream him up. He was there. And he mentioned something about dream magic. So, let me ask again, what is dream magic?” 

He glares at his mother impassively, he knows that she knows something. He sees the exact moment his mother gives up on her sad excuse of a lie when she looks down at her hands and sighs heavily. Connor waits for her to speak. 

Cynthia doesn’t look at him as she says, “Your Nana, my mother, would have explained it better. She knew more about it. She would tell me these stories when I was growing up. She believed in this myth about dream magic and magicians. Everybody dreams, but she used to say that some people could access the world of dreams better than others. They experienced dreams differently. She once said that dream magic involves dreaming in technicolour. They could share dreams, jump into another person’s dream, create dreams...” Cynthia trails off and looks up at Connor before shaking her head, “I thought it was just a story, a myth.”

Connor can feel tremors in his elbows and he’s caught between laughing and crying. Fucking hell. 

“And then I turned thirteen and told you that a dragon was chasing me through New York City and then the next day I had another dream, and I remembered it perfectly, and then the same thing continued to happen. You didn’t say anything. Mom, you didn’t fucking say anything. Zoe rolled her eyes when I was telling you and said that I was lying to sound cool, and Dad said that the medication was making me ridiculous,” Connor laughs and the sound is ugly and cold in their quiet kitchen, “And then I just stopped telling you about them.”

“I didn’t think it was that, I thought it was a side-effect they hadn’t told us about.” Cynthia offers weakly but Connor shakes his head and pushes on, “Let me guess, Dad said not to tell me, probably said that dream magic was just a pile of mumbo-jumbo. That’s what he used to call my pills, right?”

Cynthia’s silence is all the confirmation Connor needs and he feels a wave of hurt fury roll over him. He wants to go upstairs and pulls open the door to his parents’ room and scream at his father. He wraps his fingers tightly around his mother’s wrist and squeezes, “I thought they were markers of insanity. Hallucinations. And then I just got used to them. Used them as escapes.” 

“Connor, I know what it is but I don’t know how it works. Telling you about it wouldn’t have helped anybody. I didn’t know how to help you.”

She sounds desperate and pleading and Connor doesn’t want to have a pity-party for his mother. He stands abruptly and grabs his messenger bag from where he’d thrown it on the floor. His glass of milk stands untouched on the kitchen table but Connor doesn’t think he can stomach another minute in his house. 

“I’m walking to school. Tell Zoe I don’t need a ride today.”

His mother makes a small sound that is broken and anguished. Connor tightens his jaw and doesn’t look back at Cynthia standing at the table with her arm stretched out towards her son. 

He relishes in the way the sound of the door slamming behind him sends vibrations through his body. 

 

***

 

Connor slumps in his seat and flicks through the pages of his US Government textbook. Evan Hansen didn’t show up to school, didn’t show up at the stairwell, didn’t answer any of Connor’s questions. The wave of fury that had unfurled in his chest in the morning beats helplessly against his ribs. He spends the day flicking through the pages of his journal—his dream journal. He remembers his first and only therapist telling him that maybe he should consider recording his dreams. He wonders if she had known what the dreams really meant, where they came from, what he was. He remembers the heat present in the core of the earth, the stinging sensation of stars exploding on his tongue, tumbling down an endless flight of stairs, eyes watching him, stepping in front of a moving train. Connor knows that one can keep dying and dying and dying in their dreams.

He stands up when the bell rings and makes his way to where Jared Kleinman’s dumping his books 

into his backpack.

“Kleinman,” he towers over Jared and Jared spins to him with alarm on his face. He’s on the defensive, prepared to be punched, prepared to yell back, confused. Connor meets his gaze calmly. Jared’s expression of flight-or-fight snaps away within a second and Jared grins up at him. His lips mocking and arrogant and self-assured, it’s a display for Connor, and Connor feels his hands itch with the urge to shove Jared into the desks. 

“Murphy, my dude, do you ever go anywhere without carrying a cloud of gloom and doom with you?”

Connor resists the urge to roll his eyes, “I need you to drop me off at Hansen’s place.”

Jared narrows his eyes and his lips tighten, “Evan’s? Why?” There’s an edge to Jared’s voice that makes him sound protective of Evan. It almost makes Connor want to laugh because he’s heard exchanges between Kleinman and Hansen. Kleinman’s an asshole but apparently even he wants to protect Evan from Connor. How fucking quaint. 

“He’s my partner for our Environmental Studies project. We were supposed to work on it today but he didn’t show and he didn’t give me his number,” Connor lies with a shrug. 

“I can give you his number.”

“No. You’re going to drop me to his house so that I can give him a piece of my mind.”

Jared chuckles as he moves past Connor, “You know that’s not really good manners, right? And, besides, Evan’s sensitive.”

“Like I fucking care.” 

Connor needs someone to start telling the truth, someone to make sense of the dreams, someone to tell him what exactly dream magic is, and Jared Kleinman was going to take him to the one person who was responsible for this mess. Evan Hansen. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Do leave kudos, comments, critique. I can also be found at [kayhavertz](https://kayhavertz.tumblr.com) on tumblr and I'd love to talk.


End file.
